


Mistress of the Sea

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, Barmaid Emma, F/M, Pirate Captain Killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-03-26 13:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: He comes into the tavern whenever he's docked in Misthaven, always following his crew and settling down at the table in the center of the room, ordering a rum before falling into telling a rousing story that has the entire room roaring with laughter. It's like that for years, and Emma gets used to watching Captain Killian Jones in his element on land, idly wondering what he must be like when at sea. They speak to each other, enough to know names and to be comfortable in conversation, but he's rarely around long enough for her to truly know him, his mistress of the sea always calling him home.And yet he always returns to Emma.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> So I got a prompt for pirate captain Killian and barmaid Emma, and while I don't really write enchanted forest and historical things - though I have made a few attempts - this little one shot came out of nowhere. I hope you enjoy it 💕

He comes into the tavern at least five nights a week when his ship is docked in the harbor, standing tall amongst all of the small vessels that are mostly for personal use and fishermen, each of them usually going out into the sea each day while the Jolly Roger stays in its place for weeks at a time. It’s always a nice week for business when the crew is around, more ale and money flowing than a usual night, but it also always means that she and Ruby are left to serve drunk pirates who can get rambunctious and disorderly to the point that glasses are broken and that the occasional table is splintered into pieces. She’s come to expect it, really. She’s worked in this tavern for seven years, and she’s seen all matter of things happen.

 

On her first night, her eighteenth birthday when she’d been officially kicked out of the orphanage, she was learning how to balance all of the drinks on a tray when a man started serenading his lover, openly weeping with his love for her only for him to pass out drunk on the stairwell before making it to the room he had rented upstairs. She had to help his lover carry him upstairs. She once watched a woman go around the room pick pocketing every single male patron, and while she should have stopped it, she was once a young girl doing the same thing so she didn’t. That girl never came back, and Emma will always wonder why. Her favorite stories, though, always involve the dwarves and when they decide to come in. Somehow, without fail, they always manage to lead the entire place in a rousing rendition of sea shanties despite the fact that none of them have ever been out to sea. She also rather enjoys when Leroy attempts to flirt with Ruby. It’s hysterical to watch Ruby’s faces as she plays along, just like she does with every other person who comes in.

 

“It pays the tips, darling,” she always says, throwing Emma a wink.

 

So the Mistress of the Sea tavern sees its fair share of drunkards, scandals, and infidelity, but there’s nothing quite like when the crew of the Jolly Roger decide to spend their coin and their time here. If she’s honest with herself, she likes them. For pirates, they’re rather well behaved despite their rambunctious ways, and they always pay well for their drinks, food, rooms, and anything they break. Smee, a short little man who always wears a red knit cap over his head no matter the temperature, will come in early in the morning when she’s just waking up and walking down from her room so that he can cover any damages that they may have caused. It’s something she and Ruby appreciate, especially with Granny having passed and it just being the two of them working there now, so as long as they keep paying, they’ll always be welcomed.

 

On nights when the dwarves and the crew are both around, those sea shanties get sung at such a volume that the building must shake. Most of it is gibberish since only the pirates know the actual words to most of the songs, but she’s finding that she’s learned some of them too. She has to adapt to her situation, to always stay on her toes, and if that means singing along and wearing a corset that makes her breasts practically spill out the front of her dress so she gets paid more, she’s okay with that. If anyone touches her however, she threatens to cut their hand off with a kitchen knife.

 

It seems to be a pretty effective threat.

 

So she knows how it is to work in a pub and a tavern, to even live there in a small room upstairs with nothing more than a bed and a fireplace, and she knows all of her customers, talking to them and asking them about their families and work and whatever else strikes her fancy. She’s got to stay entertained, after all. It’s not as if she’s the one who gets to go on adventures. She’s simply the woman they all come to when their adventure is done and they need a drink in their stomach and a warm bed to sleep in – occasionally with someone else as well. She’s not blind. She knows what happens upstairs in the dark of the night. She’s partaken in nights like that herself.

 

But the person she knows least is Captain Killian Jones. He sails the Jolly Roger, and he’s always the last of his crew to come in, entering the door when most everyone is halfway to being intoxicated. Without fail, he saunters to the middle of the room, his long leather coat trailing behind him with a flourish, and sits down on the bench in the center of the room, his crew always making room for him. Within minutes she hands him a small tumbler of rum, and she swears that every woman in the area must sense his presence as they all crowd around his table, throwing themselves at him while he plays cards with his crew and lets poor, unsuspecting townsfolk lose their money to him.

 

It’s odd to watch him, to try to figure him out. He’s handsome. That much she knows. His years at the sea have obviously kept him fit, his leather trousers clinging to his muscled legs, and the dip in his billowing shirt shows clean lines and an expanse of dark chest hair that she watches other women curl around their fingers. After all of that, though, the most striking thing about him are his eyes. They’re blue, much like the ocean he sails, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a color that light in the dark of the night. It’s almost intoxicating, and she’s not one to be distracted by a man like that. The kohl he wears around his eyes likely helps bring out the brightness. It does the same thing to her eyes when she wears cosmetics, but she doesn’t have the dark hair that fails in wisps down her forehead or the defined jawline covered in scruff. She doesn’t have quite as bright of a white smile, one that really doesn’t belong there, or the tanned skin that accentuates it all the more.

 

She imagines men wouldn’t find her quite as appealing if she did have a beard.

 

“I’d sleep with him,” Ruby said the first time he ever came in.

 

“Rubes.”

 

“What? That’s a handsome man, Emma. You wouldn’t be making eyes at him if you didn’t think so.”

 

“I do not make eyes.”

 

Ruby’s shoulder hits hers before she’s moving away to check on a table. “Sure you don’t.”

 

So maybe she’s a little fascinated by Captain Jones. He could easily be a Naval lieutenant with his looks and charm. Hell, he could be one with his manners too. She was never taught any kind of etiquette, but she’s observant enough to know when someone has had formal training and when someone hasn’t. Killian Jones definitely has.

 

And yet he’s a pirate captain, a profitable one at that, who she knows does things that are less than honorable. She doesn’t care about any of that as long as he keeps paying his tabs. She’s simply curious.

 

She’s got to stay entertained, after all. That’s all it is. Entertainment. Curiosity quenching her thirst for adventure.

 

The night moves on as normal, the sounds increasing in the tavern as more drinks are poured and as time passes, and she thinks that things will be just any other night until two of the pirate crew, John and Will she believes, get into a fight, punching and rolling around until they crash straight through a window, the glass shattering and the wall cracking a bit with the two of them landed on the floor.

 

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, dropping her empty tray down onto the counter and kicking out her skirt as she heads over to the area, pushing through the crowd that’s watching everything unfold to see just how bad the damage is.

 

“Are you a damn imbecile, Scarlett? What about you Hawkins? Getting drunk off your arses and crashing through a fucking building where we are regular patrons here!”

 

She stands in stunned silence, glass cracking underneath her feet as she watches Captain Jones berate his crew and strike fear into their very souls. Emma’s never thought of him as a dangerous man even with his occupation. He laughs and flirts too much for that, but the way his voice is deepening and booming could strike fear into her core. It seems to be doing the same to all of his crew, not just John and Will who are down on the ground against the wall with bloodied faces that will bruise tomorrow.

 

“This is coming out of your stipend,” Killian speaks, his voice much more even now, as he crosses his arms over his chest, his shirt tightening over his back without his heavy coat leaning over it. “And you two can clean the whole damn ship until it shines. Apologize to the ladies.”

 

His last words make her stumble, falling to the ground with her hand stopping her on the shattered glass. She has no idea where Ruby is in this mess, but she must be around somewhere. She has to be.

 

When she rises back to full standing position, her hand sore and tender to the touch as it bleeds from the cuts she must have sustained, she finds Ruby standing off to the side of all of the commotion, very obviously muttering curses to anyone who can hear. If the crew weren’t scared of their captain, they should be scared of Ruby. Their eyes find each other, and when Ruby nods at her, she knows that she’s got it all under control so that Emma can move back behind the bar and deal with her hand and with closing out the tabs of everyone else who was in here tonight now that the mood is officially dead.  

 

“Shit,” she mumbles as she tries to pick out the glass after closing out a few tabs for some patrons. It’s a good thing she’s not a lady. Her mouth is far too foul for it. Plus, she likes wearing trousers far too much. They’re more comfortable and efficient some days. “Shit, shit, shit.”

 

“Looks like a pretty nasty cut there, love.”

 

“Not your love,” she mumbles, the words almost instinctive, before looking up at the man who just spoke, a soft smile curled on his lips as he nods to her hand.

 

“Simply a turn of phrase,” Killian explains, shrugging his now coat clad shoulders.

 

“You say that, but I have a lot of men in here who if I respond to that, they think it gives them a right to touch my ass.”

 

“I hope you bloody well punch them.”

 

She chuckles, dabbing at her hand and hissing at the sting as she attempts to pull a small piece of glass out. She needs a better light than this. They should get more lanterns in here. “I do. Do you need something, Captain? Or are you just here to tell me that your men are going to break another window?”

 

“Aye,” he sighs, reaching up to scratch behind his ear. It’s his tell when he’s gambling, and she wonders what exactly he’s about to lie to her about. “The other lass who works here – ”

 

“Ruby,” she tells him as she finally gets that piece of glass out, more blood pooling on her skin, the red a contrast to the white.

 

“Yes, Ruby. She told me to settle up my tab with you and to discuss the payment for the window. We’ll pay for the new glass and woodwork, and I’ll have my carpenter come to fix it. Do you have a price for that?”

 

“Ah yes, let me magically know how much all of that costs off the top of my head.”

 

“So you don’t then?”

 

“No,” she sighs, rolling her eyes a bit before wiping her hand on a rag, hoping that it’ll be good enough for now even though she can still feel glass embedded in her skin. “Your men completely tore some of this place apart. It’s not cheap, but I’d say at least ten gold coin.”

 

“Ten? It’s just bloody glass.”

 

She holds her hand up. “And a bloody hand, which I need to work.”

 

His lips press together in a firm line as he nods. When he reaches into his coat, she thinks he’s going to grab his coin purse, but instead he pulls out a silver flask, quickly opening it with his ringed thumb and holding it out to her. “Give me your hand.”

 

“Why Captain, you have to court me before I give you my hand,” she teases, using her best high-pitched voice even as her stomach twists at that and how ridiculous it sounds.

 

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else, simply sticking his free hand out in front of her. She stares at it for a moment, examining the red scars shadowed against the tanned skin and ornate rings, but she does eventually place her hand on top of his, feeling the warmth as his fingers grasp her wrist. She doesn’t take her eyes off of her hand in his as her heart begins a quick, steady rhythm in her chest, so when the rum is being poured onto her cut, she tries to jump back only to be tugged forward.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” she squeaks, grimacing at the pain as tears pool in her eyes.

 

“Be still.”

 

“It stings.”

 

“It’s supposed to, lass,” he sighs, pouring a bit more rum – because she knows it has to be rum with him – on her hand. She has to bite her tongue, the taste of iron filling her mouth, and clench her free fist to keep from punching him out of agony. “You need to disinfect your wound, or you’ll end up with something rather nasty.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Then why haven’t you?”

 

She shrugs, looking up at him and wondering if maybe he’s trying to get out of paying her so much by helping her. But that doesn’t seem right. His smile seems genuine, and he always pays. If it was anyone else, she’d expect something different, but he’s a man of his word despite every inclination telling her that he can’t be.

 

“I was a little busy trying to keep this place from falling apart.”

 

He clicks his tongue but doesn’t say anything else, putting his flask down and reaching over to grab the rag she was just using, tearing a small piece off of it with his teeth before wrapping it around her hand as a bandage, deftly tying it with his fingers. For a moment she swore he was about to tie it with his teeth too, but that would have been far too much when she can bandage her hand herself.

 

“All good then,” he tells her, patting her hand before dropping it. “Smee will come in the morning with the idiots to pay you and have my carpenter start his repair work. I’ve got personal matters to attend to, so I likely won’t be by until evening again.”

 

“Are you going to see your lady?” she jokes, figuring he must have someone in Misthaven for him to be constantly docked here. But really, she doesn’t know. It’s simply a hunch, and honestly, she’s not sure why she’s asking.

 

The right side of his lip twitches a bit before curling up in what she can only describe as a smirk. He leans in, the scent of sweat, salt, and rum briefly passing her nose, and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. “That is none of your business, but if it were, would you be envious, lass?”

 

“You’re a pirate.”

 

“Aye, a devilishly handsome one at that.”

 

“Doesn’t explain why I would be envious of your lady, who I am still not entirely convinced exists with the way you flirt with the women in here.”

 

“Why, Swan, I have always thought you were rather fond of me with the way you’re always checking on me and paying me attention.”

 

She can’t help herself but to lean forward, her lips practically touching his as she looks him directly in the eyes. He’s always cocky like this when she talks to him, and whether she admits it or not, it’s fun to get to go toe to toe with someone who can keep up.

 

“It’s my job, and I do it with every man in here. I even do it with the ladies.”

 

His brow raises at that. “Do you now?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

“Perhaps I would.”

 

She’s got a retort on her tongue, something biting and witty, but then Smee is standing in front of them, tugging on Killian’s sleeve. “Captain, Mr. Townsend wants to talk to you about your meat order before the morning.”

 

“Aye, Smee,” he sighs, leaning back from her so that she’s left with a heat in her cheeks and a sting across her skin, most likely stemming from her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, love.”

 

“Not your love,” she repeats, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“And what a bloody shame that is.”

 

“Girl,” Ruby laughs, coming over to her with a pan full of broken glass after Killian and his crew have mostly cleared out, only a few patrons staggering behind, “you are flirting dangerously.”

 

“It’s not flirting.”

 

“It is. The Captain fancies you. That’s why he’s always in here and makes sure to pay all of his debts. He doesn’t want you to get annoyed with him.”

 

“That is not true.” She rolls her eyes and pulls out their ledger so she can begin to do the math of their profits as she takes inventory of what they have left on the shelves. “And if it is, that’s one expensive way to try to stay in the favor of a barmaid when he has kingdoms of women he could be with.”

 

“I think he likes the challenge.”

 

-/-

 

True to Killian’s word, Smee comes in the next morning, far too early for her taste, to pay she and Ruby and set up a time for his carpenter to repair the window once they’ve gotten the new materials. Will and John stop by to help clean up the remaining mess and fix a few odds and ends around the place before offering to get the new materials themselves so that the window and wall can be fixed as soon as possible. It’s likely the most efficient repair job the Mistress of the Sea has ever seen, and by the time they open in the late afternoon, it’s almost as if nothing ever happened the day before.

 

It’s not as busy tonight, only three or four people spread out across all of their tables, so Emma stays behind the counter polishing glasses while Ruby tends to the rooms upstairs, changing bedsheets and quilts for when they inevitably get more visitors as the week ends.

 

If she’s honest, nights like these are her favorite. She loves a good crowd as much as the next person, but this means that she can sit on a stool and read her book, unhurriedly flipping through the pages and getting lost in the tale of the man who lost his love at sea and yet tried to find himself there.

 

“The ending of that tale is rather sad,” a familiar voice speaks, and she doesn’t bother looking up as she hears the scrape of a stool against old wood, “but I have a feeling you’d rather me not tell you the ending.”

 

“Such an intelligent man.”

 

“I know.”

 

She rolls her eyes, something she does a lot with him, and looks up after marking her place. He looks just the same as the night before, as he always does, but the kohl around his eyes isn’t quite as thick and the beard on his jaw is thicker, the dark hair more prominent than the light. He looks tired, exhausted really, and she wonders if maybe he did actually have a personal matter to attend to today. And if that personal matter was somehow an unpleasant one.

 

“Where’s your crew? They didn’t follow you in here?”

 

“They’re working. We’re departing for the summer isles soon, so I have them all stocking up and preparing the Jolly.”

 

“Ah, so what? They work and you get the night off?”

 

He smiles, lips softly pressed together. “I am the Captain after all.”

 

Her shoulders sink forward as she reaches to adjust her bandage, this one much cleaner than the rag the night before. “Sounds like the life. Do you want some rum, or did you just come in here to bother me?”

 

“Both actually,” he laughs, his smile so wide now that his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches up, looking all the more friendly instead of fierce.

 

“You can have one or the other but not both.”

 

“I think I’ll bother you then.” He pats his pocket. “I have my own rum.”

 

“What in the world is the point of you coming here if you bring your own drink?”

 

“I like the pretty barmaid.”

 

Her cheeks heat, but she doesn’t acknowledge that. He probably wants to sleep with her, and as much fun as that would probably (definitely) be, she tries not to sleep with people who she sees regularly. It gives them the wrong idea. She hasn’t looked for long term companionship since Neal abandoned her in the middle of the night six years ago, and sleeping with Killian seems like it would be complicated, even if he is leaving for awhile.

 

“Ruby is upstairs.”

 

“Not talking about Ruby. She’s a fine lass in all, but she doesn’t challenge me quite like you do.”

 

Huh. Maybe Ruby was right about him liking a challenge. She likes one too.

 

“Is that what it is then? The challenge?”

 

“Partly.”

 

“What are the other parts?”

 

“You’re fascinating,” he hums, leaning back and cocking his head to the side, a pensive look gracing his face as he seems to study hers. “You’re not a lady even though you have the hair and face of one, but you have good manners and education for you to be reading that book and talking as well as you do. You’re fierce and have kicked the arse of many men who come through here, and well, I do fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.”

 

“Charming.”

 

“I am, thanks.”

 

“Oh God,” she laughs, shaking her head back and forth despite herself. “Do you even hear yourself when you talk?”

 

“I do. And?”

 

“Do you not realize how ridiculous you sound?”

 

He shrugs. “I will admit that sometimes I overexaggerate my speech, but I’ve also found that certain people respond to different kinds of charm. You, lass, get riled up when I flirt with you, and I enjoy the way your nose scrunches up in what I know is fake disgust.”

 

“How do you know it’s fake?”

 

He reaches his hand forward and bops her nose, and dammit, she does scrunch it up in response.

 

“Because when you’re actually annoyed you furrow your brows and your lips practically disappear. I see it happen time and time again at night. You’re not the only observant person in here.”

 

She hums, a bit of disbelief settling in her stomach, before she hops onto the back counter, letting her legs hang over the ground as she wipes away a piece of dirt from her trousers. “I can’t quite figure you out, Killian Jones. You’re too educated and too polished not to have gone through some kind of formal training and yet you work as a pirate captain. You’re also younger. Most pirates who are in leadership positions are much older, so that doesn’t make much sense either. And I know all about pirate code, but that usually doesn’t involve always paying debts at taverns and not a single crew member actively making a pass at the barmaids.”

 

“What can I say? I’m a complex man.”

 

The tavern stays empty throughout the rest of the night, only a few people filtering in and out, but the one thing that never changes is Killian sitting at his barstool nursing the glass of rum she finally gives to him. For awhile, she tries to ignore him, going about her duties and reading her book, but he seems to be a never-ending supply of words as he tells her stories from his time at sea and bits and pieces of what she assumes is his childhood. It’s difficult to piece the timeline together, but as the nights go by, Killian coming in every night for the next nine days, she gets a clearer picture of this man who intrigues her despite everything.

 

He’s thirty, five years her senior, and he’s originally from Misthaven, which shocks her as his accent is different, but then again, most accents here are varied since this is a diverse kingdom where people of all colors and sexes are treated the same most of the time. He left Misthaven when he was a child, though he gave no reason, and has been on the sea ever since, which doesn’t explain his schooling or how he became a pirate. He doesn’t seem like some kind of evil, scum of the earth man, and with each new piece of information, she has at least five more questions for him. But asking him questions, showing him that she’s interested in knowing more about his beginnings, isn’t something she wants to do. Despite the fact Ruby says he fancies her, that he has admitted it himself, she knows that this is not a man she should get involved with even if he’s growing on her even more with his charm.

 

But then he leaves. She knew that it was coming, that he wasn’t going to stay docked here forever before he went to the summer isles, but it still takes her aback when he stops by one morning as the sun rises over the horizon, waking her out of bed, to leave her with a coin purse for any improvements that she and Ruby might want to make. If she had been more awake, sleep not still tempting her, she would have refused. But then it was placed in her slightly scarred hand, and he was gone, only the remnant of a touch of skin against skin remaining.

 

And he stays gone for weeks, five so far to be exact. She wasn’t counting, not really, but whenever he’s away, their business significantly decreases without an entire ship’s crew filling their tables. It’s nice in a way, allowing she and Ruby to sit and chat and work on other tasks, but she misses the money and the liveliness, especially as winter blows in and a heavy chill is placed over every building close to the sea, all of the wood aching just as the bones do in the cold. That’s always been the downside of working here. During the summer, there’s no better place than to be able to feel the salt air on her skin and the sunshine on her back as they open all of the windows and let the sound of music from street musicians waft in. She and Ruby and some of their friends will walk down to the marketplace, loading up on freshly grilled fish and baked goods before settling down on the sand, likely getting drunk on some of their cheap wine before stripping away their clothes and losing time wading in the waves.

 

The winter, however, is something entirely different. All of the windows stay shut, and a fire roars at all waking hours. They’d keep it lit all throughout when they sleep if not for fear of the tavern burning down. She and Ruby keep the ones in their quarters alive, simply so they do not freeze bundled in their warmest clothes and blankets. Everything is almost dreary, the colors of the sea and the sky more gray than blue, and she finds that she longs to be able to run outside again and get to do more than simply struggle to stay warm and keep her nose from falling off when collecting firewood.

 

And despite herself, she finds that maybe she misses the pirate captain with the blue eyes and the charming smile. He’s a pain in her ass, but he’s entertaining. And maybe, deep down, she does find that she likes him and enjoys his company. She doesn’t trust many men, not anymore, but despite everything, she trusts him. He’s never gone back on his word, and no one in her life but him has ever been so consistent and trustworthy like that.

 

But she doesn’t know him, not really, so she pushes down those thoughts and tries to get through the winter to keep the tavern alive, never touching the money Killian gave her except to buy she and Ruby new coats and a new lock when the tavern gets broken into one night.

 

Life gets busy as the winter snow melts away and the warm spring sun arrives, and with the sun arriving, so does a familiar ship that she can spot without even trying. She sees it when she’s airing out quilts in their courtyard, clipping them to the lines, and her stomach flips and twists, making her almost nauseous with… _something_.

 

“Huh,” Ruby sighs, placing her hands on her hips and looking down to the docks. “Looks like lover boy is back, and we’re going to have customers tonight.”

 

They do have customers that night, nearly all of the freshly tanned crew of the Jolly Roger, but there’s one noticeable Captain who is missing, his boots never stepping over the threshold. She ignores the sympathetic looks from Ruby because they are nothing, she and Killian. She shouldn’t feel anything for him. She doesn’t know him. Just because he talked to her night after night for a little over a week after dancing around her for years doesn’t mean that suddenly he owes her anything, like she owes nothing to him.

 

It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

 

When did she become the type of girl to miss a man?

 

No. Scratch that. She has never thought it to be weak to miss a man or to crave companionship. Everyone needs someone, whether that be a spouse, a lover, a friend, or a child. Much of her life has been spent alone, so she knows the value of being loved and how precious that is. But she wonders when she stopped hating the idea of having someone besides Ruby and some of the fellow girls in town be her companion. She wonders just when she decided that maybe not every man is going to fuck her and then leave her.

 

She wonders.

 

She wonders when in the world she decided to miss Killian Jones.

 

She wonders if he missed her.

 

He never shows that night, and she goes to bed with a sting spreading across her skin and in her heart despite every inclination not to let herself be bothered by someone not showing up to see her when she should have never expected it in the first place.

 

By the time the Jolly has been docked a week and there’s still no sight of him, she decides, probably under the influence of the glass of rum she just drank, to wander down to the docks and up the boards to step foot on a pirate ship where she has no business being. She nods her head at Will, who is looking at her with parted lips but with understanding in his eyes, before she makes her way across the solid wood to where the Captain’s quarters are, using her memory of where she’s seen him exit before to know where to go. She knocks, and when there’s a quiet “enter,” she does.

 

The room is small, but it’s decorated nicely, a table in the center and bookshelves lining a wall with a bed nestled into the corner. It takes her but a moment to realize this used to be a Naval ship, and suddenly all of Killian’s knowledge of etiquette and good form make sense. She’d bet that he was once in the Royal Navy and that he wasn’t always a pirate. Maybe one day she’ll even ask about it.

 

Maybe one day she’ll truly get to know him.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he mumbles, not bothering to look up from the table where he has books spread across the wood, neat, curving handwriting filling nearly all of them.

 

“I was missing my best customer.”

 

“Aye, I know. My apologies. I – I – it has been a busy week returning. I’ve had books to fill and goods to buy, and it seems my usual docking spot is not available through the summer so I’m attempting to figure out where to move us until June when I’ll have my spot back.”

 

“We have a spot,” she says, boldly sitting down in the chair across from him. It’s what gets him to look up at her, and she sees that his blue eyes are rimmed in red as if he were just crying. She ignores that and keeps talking, not knowing what else to do. “The tavern gets one. It’s for a smaller boat, but I’m sure we could work something out with the harbormaster.”

 

“Why, love, if you wanted me to stay so badly, you could have just said so.”

 

“I want you to stay.”

 

His lips part as if he’s about to say something, but then they press together, only the smallest hint of a smile peeking through as his head nods up and down. “I’d like that.”

 

She stays with him in his quarters for the next two hours, letting him regale her with stories of his time away and all of the beautiful islands he saw while in the summer isles, and when she tells him she has to go to work, he promises he’ll come by tonight.

 

He does.

 

And every night that week.

 

It’s around two Sunday morning when she slides onto the bench across from him, offering him a glass of water that he gladly takes, likely needing to sober up a bit more.

 

“Why are you all doom and gloom today?”

 

“If one more person asks me that I swear I’ll break every stool in here.”

 

“That’s going to be an expensive rampage.”

 

“It’ll be worth it.”

 

“Hey,” she soothes, reaching over to place her hand right in front of his, hesitating before she places it fully over the warm skin and contrasting cool rings. He doesn’t look up at her, his eyes intently staring at their hands, but she watches as his jaw clenches and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to coddle you and say that you can destroy my property because you’re having a bad day, but I am sorry that you’re having a bad day.”

 

Killian nods his head before he looks at her, the intensity of his gaze nearly burning her, and she focuses on it instead of the way that his fingers twist around her skin, interlacing their fingers and resting them on the tabletop. It’s…comfortable. She likes the way her hand fits into his.

 

“My brother died seven years ago today. He was…he was the only family I had left, and even though he could be an insufferable arse, he didn’t deserve to die.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, not sure what else to say as she watches a tear roll down his cheek. This must be why his eyes were red rimmed last week and maybe why he avoided the tavern for awhile. She guesses the tough pirate captain is still a human with feelings underneath the leather exterior. She’s always known that. It’s simply unexpected to get to see it.

 

“Me too,” he smiles, squeezing her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles. “I was in the Royal Navy, you know? Joined the moment I turned eighteen after living as a cabin boy on a ship, working my way up from practical slavery. Liam and I were going to change the world and protect our kingdom, this kingdom, to honor our mother. And for awhile, we did. But then – well, then the king turned out to be a bloody liar who sent us on a mission for a cure to a disease his wife was afflicted with, but instead we were really collecting poison so that he could kill off an entire enemy kingdom.”

 

She knows what’s going to happen before he even says the words, and it takes everything in her not to vomit out the contents of her stomach.

 

“Some of the inhabitants of the island told us it was poison, but Liam wouldn’t believe them. He said our king was too honorable, that he wouldn’t do that. Then Liam touched the plant, the spikes pricking his skin, and he was g-gone not an hour later. I think I went mad that day, losing the person I loved most in the world, and the rage inside of me made me declare that I would never trust or serve a king again, that I would sail my own ship and my own crew in honor of Liam even though I know he would be ashamed of me for being a pirate.”

 

“If he loved you as much as you still love him, I don’t think he could ever be ashamed of you.”

 

He smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “When I was here last, love,” he begins, and she decides to let the love nickname slide – it doesn’t bother her quite as much as it used to, “the personal matter I had to attend to was going to my childhood home. I despise this kingdom, but being in this one small part near the sea and near where I was raised, it’s comforting to me. I keep coming back for the memories of Liam and my mother, and God help me, I think I keep coming back for you too.”

 

That’s the absolute last thing she was expecting, and she knows he must feel her hand go stiff in his because he loosens his grip, allowing her the option of pulling away. She doesn’t. She can’t. The man just shared his soul with her, and she finds that she doesn’t want to pull away when he continues to be more than she ever thought he was.

 

When he continues to be someone she cares about.

 

“I’ll always be here.”

 

-/-

 

The last remnants of winter and spring melt away into a sweltering summer, everything smelling of sweat and the sea. It’s just what she wants, what she likes, and even though she could do without sweating every day, she could not be more excited for June to be here, especially because after leaving for the month of May, Killian has promised to stay here for most of the summer, only leaving when he absolutely has to.

 

Their relationship is odd and it’s not one she really understands, but she’s chosen not to question it as they have naturally fallen into it, almost like there was really no other option for the two of them. Most of her early mornings are spent below the deck of the Jolly Roger sleeping in Killian’s bed with his body wrapped around hers and the ocean gently rocking below them. The first time she spent the night on the ship had been an accident. Killian had been at the Mistress of the Sea drinking with his crew, and they’d gotten into a conversation about star charts. Killian insisted that she come see some of his charts that he keeps in his bookshelf, and after she closed down, she walked with him to the docks and scoured over the papers as Killian pointed out the different constellations to her. She’d fallen asleep sitting at his table that night, and when she woke in the warm comfort of his bed, she saw Killian sleeping in an uncomfortable desk chair, his legs kicked out in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest.

 

It was as innocent as could be.

 

That quickly changed one afternoon when they were sitting on the sand at the beach, her bare toes drawing patterns in the sand as Killian told her the stories of the scars on his hand and across his back, a lifetime of hardship marked into his skin for him to remember forever. For some reason at that moment she had no ability to speak and everything she felt for him needed to be released, so she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled his lips to hers in what ended up being the slowest, most passionate kiss she’s ever experienced, every emotion she’d ever felt for him settling in her stomach as she felt the steady beat of his heart against hers. And as she’s learned, Killian Jones knows how to kiss in a way that makes her toes curl and her entire body stand on edge, and she’d like to live in a world where he keeps making her feel that way.

 

For right now, she thinks that it’s going well.

 

“What’s your favorite color?”

 

“Seriously?” she asks, repositioning herself on top of him so that her arms rest on his chest and her chin on her forearms just below his face. “Why do you want to know that?”

 

He hums, seemingly content not to answer her and instead to run his hand up and down her bare back with it finally landing on her ass. She’d think that it was an unconscious movement, but she notices the little twitch at the corners of his lips and the slight squeeze of his hand.

 

“Well, darling, it seems that I know the deep dark secrets of your heart and all about those who have hurt you, as well as just what flick of my tongue makes you fall apart at my touch, but I don’t know your favorite color or season or exactly which sweet is your favorite. If I’m going to properly court you, these are things I should know as well.”

 

She dips her head down to kiss his chest and taste the salt that always seems to linger on his skin. “I think we may be far past the courting stage for proper ladies and gentleman.”

 

“It’s a good thing we’re not proper,” he laughs, gently slapping her ass so that she scoots up his body a little further, her tongue dipping into the hollow part of his skin just above his collarbone. “I want to know you, Emma. You fascinate me to no end, and someone as bloody wonderful as you deserves to have someone know the depths of their heart intimately.”

 

Her heart literally flutters, which can’t be healthy, and she smiles into his chest before looking up at him and the sun that’s streaming through the windows, a small beam falling across his right eye and making the blue shine.

 

“My favorite color is yellow, like on a sunflower, and my favorite season is summer. We need to go swimming sometime soon because it’s my favorite thing to do to get out of the heat. Ruby, the girls, and I go all of the time. I want you to come with me when you’re not pillaging and plundering and all that. And my favorite sweet is any sweet, but specifically, I like anything with chocolate and cinnamon.”

 

He closes his eyes and nods his head, like he’s trying to memorize these facts about her, and she watches as he lifts his free arm and rests it behind his head so that she can see the muscles of his biceps and the siren tattoo that’s etched there to color his skin.

 

“We can go swimming tomorrow afternoon before you have work. I have nothing to do but find you a bouquet of sunflowers and a basket of chocolate and cinnamon sweets, so I think it’ll work out well.”

 

She narrows her eyes, and he simply smiles in return. “What are you up to, Jones?”

 

“Nothing, my love.” He encourages her to move up so that he can slide his lips over hers, nibbling at her bottom lip and making her sigh into him and into this life. “I like seeing you smile is all. It’s half of the reason that I keep sticking around these parts and wandering into that tavern of yours when I know you overcharge me.”

 

She scoffs, hitting her hand against his skin and quickly biting his upper lip. “We only overcharge the scoundrels at the Mistress of the Sea, thank you very much. We’d never overcharge a pirate captain who has more gold than he knows what to do with. That’d be ridiculous.”

 

Killian laughs, a sound she’ll never tire of hearing, before he expertly flips them over, caging her body in and pressing her into the mattress while his lips never cease their movement against hers, drowning her in pleasure and happiness and love that she never thought she’d feel, especially with him. As the ship rocks below them, Killian rocks inside of her, slowly taking his time to help her find her bliss like he always does when they get quiet moments hidden away down here.

 

She loves him. Really and truly, and she’s thankful that he decided to go back to Misthaven despite all of the heartbreak he’s experienced here.

 

“You,” he begins after they’ve both fallen apart, sweat coating their skin and Killian’s thumb running back and forth over her cheek as sleep calls to her, “are my mistress of the sea, but I do think that I love you more than I’ve ever loved the ocean.”


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise? 
> 
> This was supposed to be a one shot, but, you know, things happen. I hope you enjoy those things❤️

Killian nudges her with his nose, pressing it into her cheek and inhaling the scent of her hair. She washed it yesterday spending far too long in the bath – not that he would ever complain about that – and it smells of the lavender of the soap she uses. He’d bought it for her before they left Misthaven, making sure that she had all of the amenities that she could have had at home had she not left the shore, and even though she’d rolled her eyes at him when she saw the baskets of goods stored in the empty cabin boy’s room next to his, she hasn’t complained about having potions to wash her hair and soap to clean her body. It was definitely for him, loving the way she smells, but really, it was more for her as a thank you for agreeing to join him on his trip to the summer isles to get away from the harsh late autumn and early winter of Misthaven.

 

He’d asked her to sail with him in July when the two of them were swimming in a small cove off of the coast that he used to frequent when he was a boy. Liam had shown it to him, and they often found themselves there to keep away the heat on particularly sweltering days when even the air felt heavy like it was gasping for breath. Emma had suggested they simply swim by the docks like she and their friends do, but as much as he loves her and would do anything for her, he knew he could not go frolicking in the ocean with his lady in a place where his crew and his enemies could see him despite the fact that they did it once before on the night after he told Emma that he loved her for the first time. Mostly he believes that he still has the ability to be an honorable man, to not be the evil that pirates are always portrayed as, but a part of his job is to be able to strike fear into others, to be cunning and take over other ships of neighboring kingdoms, stealing treasure and gold, so he can’t always be seen around the village as a lighthearted man.

 

He has a reputation to uphold, and that reputation is one of a rebel in defiance of his king and the laws of the land.  

 

He serves no king, never will again, but he does serve a queen in his love.

 

One day he may give up his pirating ways, may retire to a small cottage near the shore with the salty ocean air permeating through the windows and sinking into the creaking wood floors while he and Emma spend their days together living off of the gold he’s accumulated while at sea. He knows Emma, however, and knows that she would insist to keep working at the tavern so as not to have idle hands and leave Ruby without help. That had been her reservation on spending months away from home when he’d asked. She couldn’t leave her work, couldn’t leave Ruby, and it took weeks of nudging and finally a push from the brunette herself to say that she could hire extra help and that Emma deserved to get to see the world if only for a little while. How much could possibly happen in the six months that they’ll be gone? Emma had relented then, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever smiled that widely at knowing he would have his beloved aboard the Jolly with him for months on end.

 

Before they left, Ruby had threatened his manhood if he allowed Emma to get hurt in any way, and he knew she was talking more about Emma’s heart than her body. Even with how much he’s gotten to know the lass in his years of frequenting her tavern (he’d grown rather fond of her grandmother before her passing, and Ruby has the same Lucas tenacity and spirit that he always admired in the Widow Lucas), she is still able to see that he is still a pirate who often has a bounty on his head for things he has stolen or people he has killed.

 

Sometimes he wonders if Emma still sees him that way, if she realizes that he doesn’t deserve her and her good heart. She’s not perfect, has never claimed to be. She was once a thief as well, but she didn’t have another choice if she wanted to live a life that was more than begging for scraps of what she deserved. Her parents abandoned her, left her to the orphanage as a babe, and no one there provided for her but the bare minimum of what she needed to survive. And sometimes not even that. She was lucky to get the job as a barmaid when she was forced to leave the orphanage, and even though Neal had taken advantage of her by loving her, stealing her money, and then leaving her when she was still so young, barely a woman even, she stayed at the Mistress of the Sea.

 

He believes that he’ll forever be thankful for that as some kind of twist of fate happened for them to find each other.

 

He’s not thankful that she was hurt, of course. He’d never wish that upon her. Her heart was broken once upon a time, but it still works. And with the strong will that she has burning within her veins and constantly threatening to burst through, she’s soldiered on.

 

In his life, he likes to think that he’s done the same. Unlike Emma, however, he strayed from the honorable path. He doesn’t regret it. His king betrayed him and made him lose his brother, the one family member he had left after his father’s abandonment and his mother’s death. For that, he did not deserve Killian’s service to the country. For that, he does not deserve his life, and while Killian once sought vengeance and wanted to kill the king, he does not seek that any longer.

 

He's still angry and will continue with his life as it is, but vengeance is no longer at the top of his list like it once was.

 

Milah had helped him with that soon after Liam’s death, even if he believes that the lesson wasn’t truly drilled into his mind until the past year or so. But he’d been grieving, ready to kill more than he already had in his quest to take command of other vessels and steal their bounties, and while Milah certainly never discouraged his angry, violent side, she did help him understand that there could be love in his life even without Liam. It wouldn’t be the same, of course, but it would be there.

 

He’d met her in the kingdom of Aurum during a festival to celebrate the king’s birthday. She’d been dancing in the middle of a square, long brunette curls whirling around her head. She was beautiful and lovely and just the woman who he needed to help him feel a little light in the world again. That she would later extinguish it by telling him that she was married with a child and couldn’t stay with him was unknown to him at the time, but even now, he thinks he wouldn’t have changed anything.

 

Or many things.

 

He had his heart broken when it was already in fragile pieces, and yet the woman lying next to him right now with her breath coming out and landing on his neck makes him sure that it still works.

 

He was doubtful about it for a long while.

 

Nudging her with his nose again in an attempt to gently wake her, he runs his hand down her side, shifting it under the shirt she’s wearing – his shirt – and rests it just below her breasts spreading his fingers across her stomach and side to feel the coolness of her skin under the warmth of his own.

 

“You’re not very subtle in what you want, Jones,” she mumbles, curling her legs up so that her knees hit his thighs and her face squishes a bit further into the feather pillow where both of their heads rest.

 

“And what is it that I want, Swan?”

 

“If I had to bet all of the gold on this ship, I’d say you’re waking me far too early just so that you can fuck me.”

 

“You’ve never protested that before,” he chuckles, tapping his fingers against her stomach and pushing forward to brush his lips against her chin in the indent he loves so, “and as glorious as that would be as I do so love you in the morning light with the way your hair shines and your skin is practically translucent, I’m afraid you’d lose all of my gold for your answer.”

 

“What?” she yawns, her mouth opening widely before snapping shut as she opens her eyes to look at him, the green bright with the light from the windows shining across it. “You woke me up early, and it’s not even for sex? What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

He raises his brow, not truly sure what to say to this woman who is an enigma and always seems to be surprising him despite the two of them knowing each other well now. Having her aboard his ship is truly an adventure in and of itself. “First you are dismissive and tease me about wanting to make love to a beautiful woman who shares my bed, and now you’re upset that it’s not what I want? Love, you’ve got to make up your mind.”

 

“Too tired,” she groans, wrapping her arms a little more tightly around the pillow as she inches closer to him, closing her eyes again. “We hit rough waters last night, didn’t we? That’s why you came to bed late.”

 

“Aye. There are always severe storms when entertaining the summer isles. The temperature changes so drastically that the mix of cold winds and warm winds results in large waves and rainstorms. It’s simply a hazard of life, but it’s nothing to be nervous about.”

 

“I wasn’t nervous,” Emma protests. She opens one eye while the other stays closed, half of her face distorted. “I couldn’t sleep because it was so loud with the rain and the waves. I heard shouting, but I figured since I’m still shaky on my way around the ship, I would be more help staying down here.”

 

“You’re safer down here too.”

 

“I’m not a damsel. I can take care of myself.”

 

“Never said you couldn’t, but I didn’t want to have a rope tied around my waist as I dived into the raging ocean to catch you when you inevitably took a wrong step and fell overboard.”

 

“I would not.”

 

“You would. You’ve been here for two weeks, and you still get tripped up at the dip in the wood near the bow.”

 

“You can’t even see it,” she whines, twisting and falling back so that his hand shifts completely to her stomach while she stares up at the ceiling, “which is idiotic. That’s a liability, and you need to fix it. Luis could do it. He fixes everything.”

 

“It’s strategic, love. There are dips and uneven boards all across the deck for when others invade. I know this ship better than I know the dips and curves of your body.”

 

“I understand what you were going for there, but it’s probably not your brightest idea to tell me that you know your ship better than you know me.”

 

He chuckles to himself and squeezes his hand around her stomach, grabbing onto the curve of her waist before he maneuvers himself to climb over her, covering her body with his own as he props himself up by his elbows and his knees.

 

“I.” He dips his head down to press a kiss on the apple of her cheek. “Know.” He brushes his lips over both of her eyelids, knowing that it tickles her when he does that. “You.” He slides his lips over hers, tasting her and getting lost in the soft comfort that always comes with kissing Emma and being connected with her as he is. She steadies him on unsteady waves, and he hopes for her to always know that. “You are my mistress of the sea, after all.”

 

“Damn right,” she sighs into his lips before she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as her fingers thread into his hair. He loves when she does that, loves the way he can feel it down each vertebrae in his spine. “You never did tell me why you woke me up.”

 

He hums, leaning down to kiss her again, leisurely moving his lips over hers and tracing his tongue along her bottom lip before she grants him entrance, their tongues moving together in a slick dance that his him rethinking everything he said earlier about not waking her for sex, especially as her hips cant up into his. He groans at the feeling, but before it all goes too far, he pulls back, pressing one last kiss at the corner of her lips while Emma lets out a whine that tests every restraint in his body.

 

Later. They’ll fall into each other later.

 

“We’ll be in Arendelle within a few hours,” he finally tells her, watching as a few of the curls around her face fall to her skin, “so I’ll be busy for awhile and didn’t want you to believe that I had forgotten that today is your birthday.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“Darling, don’t tease. You know that it is.”

 

“Genuinely I don’t,” she laughs as her hand keeps stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “I haven’t checked the calendar like you, and I didn’t realize that it was already the end of October.”

 

“Lazy arse.”

 

“I am indeed.”

 

“Happiest of birthdays, my love,” he wishes, dipping his head down to kiss her mouth before trailing his lips across her jaw, landing just below her ear and tugging on her lobe with his teeth since he knows that she likes that. “Tonight I think I’ll take you into a nice inn, get the grandest room they have, and we’ll celebrate, yeah?”

 

“I think I like that idea.”

 

“You only think?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know. What if we go out for drinks and I meet a handsome pirate and run off with him? I’ve been known to do that before.”

 

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want you to have.”

 

“It’s a good thing that’s you then.”

 

-/-

 

Emma is drunk off of her arse, and even though he knows that her head will pound in agony when she wakes in the morning, he can’t help but laugh as he watches her filter in and out of the booths that are set up for the firelight festival, telling him the items she absolutely _must have_  with no question or exception. She’s got her coin purse on her. She could buy these items herself, but he’s rather glad that even in her intoxicated state she’s not buying them a fleet of chicken for the Jolly. He’s not entirely sure how that would go over.

 

Or really, he is. Emma would name them all in her drunken state, become horribly attached as if they were dogs, and then he’d have twenty pet chickens roaming the ship at all times making a mess of things.

 

Maybe they should simply get a dog instead. Or a cat. They’re both surprisingly useful out at sea.

 

Why is he even thinking these things? They’re not getting animals to live aboard with them. For a moment it was almost as if he was drunk instead of Emma. What a pair they would be.

 

They’ve been in Arendelle for a little over a month now, October and November quickly ending as December begins, the temperature only slightly dropping to a less insufferably hot state. He swears that every morning when Emma wakes up, whether it be in the inn they’re frequenting here or in his quarters, she gets this little sliver of excitement in her eyes over the fact that it’s winter and yet she is not suffering in the coldness. After all, summer is her favorite season with its warm temperatures and green pastures, and he’s glad to help her experience it for more time with their travels.

 

Even if it does mean that Emma had one too many glasses of whiskey when the crew all went to the Snowbird’s Tavern for a late meal. Her alcohol tolerance rivals his own, but after he noticed the unusual flush in her cheeks, he took a sip of her drink and realized just how strong her whiskey was.

 

He might as well hide out from her tomorrow because nothing he says will make her do anything but attempt to kick his arse.

 

She’s a strong and stubborn one.

 

“Emma, Emma,” he calls when she becomes particularly interested in a stall of gems which are all most likely fake. She pays him no mind as her fingers run over a ruby ring, the gemstone sparkling under the light from the lamppost above. “Darling, you are quite the trip today.”

 

“This is beautiful,” she sighs, sliding it onto her hand, a perfect fit on her right ring finger.

 

“Would you like to buy the ring for your pretty lady?” the merchant asks, staring at him with a devious smile and a rotted front tooth. If he wasn’t sure that the gems were fake before, he is now. “It’s a reasonable price, but I believe you cannot put a price on young love.”

 

He sighs, his shoulders sagging with the movement. He’s a bloody pirate captain, feared by those all across the realms, and here he is being swindled because his love has gotten intoxicated and has her eyes set on a ring. Tomorrow they’re going to spend the day aboard the ship while Emma recovers from today, possibly find a private cove and strip away their clothes before taking a dip into the water, and stay far away from the town center before he has to return to prepare for their leave in but a week’s time.

 

“I’ll give you two silver coins for it.”

 

“Two silver coins? Good sir, this is a real ruby ring with a band made of pure gold. It deserves more than some small coin.”

 

He rolls his eyes and grits his teeth, wondering if it would be too much to threaten this man with a knife for his lies, but when it comes down to it, this is nothing. He’ll spend his coin tonight and buy Emma the ring so that she may have it to match the pendant around her neck that he had made from one of the rings that used to rest on his left pointer finger. One day he’ll buy her something nicer to replace whatever poor excuse of jewelry this is, but in her intoxicated state, this seems to be something that will make her happy.

 

All he wants is to make her happy.

 

Digging into his coat pocket, he throws a few gold coins on the table, far more than the ring is worth, before placing his hand on Emma’s back and guiding her out of marketplace. He’s beside himself with her tonight, and a part of him cannot wait to tell her that she was like this tomorrow. Or the next day when her body isn’t still recovering from her overindulgence and she’s more receptive to the whole situation. Hell, maybe he should simply get drunk with her and they can enjoy tonight like two bumbling fools.

 

“We should have bought another ring for Ruby,” she sighs as they walk through the alleyways on their way back to the dock, Emma’s feet stumbling on the cobblestone every now and then. “Her name is Ruby, so she must love rubies. It would be fucking ridiculous if she didn’t.”

 

Ah, there’s her sailor’s mouth that he’s so fond of. It’s like the woman spent her early years at sea.

 

“We’ll find her something before we return home.”

 

“Home.” Emma lets out a puff of air before she wraps her arms around his elbow and rests her head on his shoulder. He shakes his head and smiles to himself. “How long until we go home?”

 

“Not for months, love.”

 

“I miss it.”

 

“Aye, me too.”

 

“How long will you stay when we get back?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“W-when we get back to Misthaven…how long will you stay before we leave again? I know you haven’t really done much but show me around here, and I’m sure you’re craving adventure and the open waters and pillaging or plundering or whatever it is that you do.”

 

Her words are only slightly slurred, so he figures that maybe she is mostly coherent, but now is not the time for them to discuss this. Later they will. Later when he can count on Emma being a full participant in the conversation.

 

“How could I ever crave any more adventure when I have you by my side?”

 

Emma squeezes his arm before letting go and running to the water, leaning over and hurling into the harbor. When she’s finished, he rubs his hand against her back in an attempt to soothe her, knowing that she’s likely weak from losing all of the contents of her stomach.

 

“I think I want to go to sleep,” she yawns, leaning over the railing and resting her forehead on her arms.

 

“Let’s go back to the ship then, love.”

 

“No, right here. I can sleep right here.”

 

He chuckles before maneuvering himself behind her, wrapping his left arm under her knees and her right under her shoulder as he scoops her into the air, letting her wrap her arms around his neck while he shuffles his feet to get his bearings.

 

“What are you doing? You can’t carry me.”

 

“Please,” he laughs, starting back down the path to the ship, “I’ve carried rum barrels heavier than you.”

 

“Did you drop them?”

 

“Only the one time, but don’t fret, we fished that barrel right out of the ocean.”

 

She taps her finger against his nose, looking for all the world as the most fearsome woman alive as she stares at him with slanted eyes and pursed lips. “If you drop me, I will kick you in the balls.”

 

“Now, darling, why would you want to do that?”

 

“To hurt you for dropping me in the ocean.”

 

“Ah,” he sighs, clicking his tongue against his teeth as the Jolly Roger comes into sight. “Well, I feel like this is a solid plan, but then I fear that if you damage my manhood, that affects you as well.”

 

“You have a mouth. I’ll be fine.”

 

He throws his head back as he barks out a laugh, the sound likely loud enough for every sailor in the area to hear, but he doesn’t care in the slightest as he steps onto his ship, the wood creaking beneath their joined weight, and passes by the crew who decided to stay aboard tonight instead of exploring the town.

 

“Evening, Cap’n,” Scarlett greets, nodding his head at the two of them.

 

“Will,” Emma gasps, throwing her hands in the air before quickly wrapping them around his neck again, her eyes bulging in fear of being dropped. She’s really all over the place tonight. He was sure that she’d fall asleep on the way home, but it seems as if she’s got little bursts of energy again. “Did you go into the festival? They have the sweet cakes you like. Oh, Killian, we should have bought Will the sweet cakes.”

 

“Yeah, Killian, you two should have bought me the sweet cakes.”

 

His eyes cut to Scarlett who’s got this cheeky grin on his face. He can’t decide whether he wants to play along or tell Will to fuck off with his informalities. Emma has a soft spot for Will Scarlett. It’s the strangest thing. She hated him for awhile because he was always the one to break windows and tables in her tavern, but ever since she’s come aboard to live with them, he’s somehow grown on her. Some mornings when he hasn’t gotten the chance to go to bed, leaving Emma in their cabin by herself, he’ll be checking on the rigging and look over to see Emma talking to Scarlett perched on the bow. He believes that they’re friends of a sort. Really, he thinks she’s friends with most of his crew. She’s enchanted them all.

 

At first, he knows that most of them were not excited to have Emma on board, even if they all knew her from before, but they didn’t have an option. She’s his lady, and if she wants to sail with them, she can bloody well sail with them. But then she was so damn charming and commanding, letting everyone know that she’s still the same woman who doesn’t take any of their shit at the tavern, and somehow that made everything fall into place.

 

And it’s likely that reason why he’ll joke around with Scarlett tonight even though he called him by his first name. Only Emma does that. It feels odd rolling off of someone else’s tongue.

 

He wonders if it’s because a part of him misses it.

 

“Why, Will, I didn’t know we were on a first name basis. When are the nuptials? I think I’ll still wear my leathers, but you should get something nicer to wear.”

 

He watches Will’s lips part, his mouth gaping, and he smiles a bit to himself until he feels Emma tapping his chest as he readjusts her in his arms. He’s got to put her down soon and get her to bed. Maybe he should get her some coffee from the kitchen. In the morning most definitely.

 

“What, darling?”

 

“We can serve sweet cakes at the wedding.”

 

“Aye,” he chuckles, looking down at the genuine glee in her eyes. “We can do that.”

 

“Ems, are you drunk?”

 

“Very,” she answers. “Killian can’t have sex with me because I’m going to kick his manhood.”

 

“Okay then,” he huffs as the tips of his ears turn what he is sure is a cherry red, “I’m going to take her to bed before she says anything else ridiculous. Be prepared for her to be hungover in the morning, Scarlett.”

 

He nods his head. “Will do, Cap’n.”

 

Killian puts Emma on the ground when he gets to his door, stepping down the ladder himself first so that he can help her down on her wobbly legs. He’ll likely never see her like this again, so he laughs to himself as he assists her in undressing from her gown to simply her shift and twisting her hair into a braid. It’s similar to tying some ropes, so he’s picked up on it rather quickly to help her on nights when she asks him too. The moment she lies down on the bed, her eyes fall closed as she falls into sleep.

 

“Fuck,” she groans the next morning, twisting in bed and burrowing her face into the pillow.

 

“Your head?” he questions, brushing a piece of fallen hair off of her forehead so that he can see the side of her face and the freckles that are scattered against her slightly tanned skin.

 

“It’s like I was repeatedly hit over the head with an anchor.”

 

“I believe you’d be dead if that were true.”

 

“I will hurt you.”

 

“You’ve been so violent lately, always threatening to hurt me.”

 

“It’s because you deserve it.”

 

“I simply think you’re becoming a pirate.” He reaches over to her and rubs his hand up and down her back, using his nails to scratch a temporary pattern into her skin. It always turns red for a moment before returning to her normal color. “I knew there was always a little pirate in you, Swan.”

 

“You better watch out or I’ll sneakily become captain. The men will listen to me.”

 

“That they will,” he admits, knowing that it’s true, before he leans over to press his lips against her neck, sucking a bit at the cords simply because he cannot help himself. “Would you like to go get some coffee from the galley to help with your head? I’m sure there are sweets in there as well.”

 

“Don’t want to move,” she mumbles, reaching down to pull the quilt further up her body. “Why aren’t you suffering like this?”

 

“I didn’t drink the whiskey you had last night. It was quite strong.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Your tolerance needs work,” he teases, rubbing his hand up and down her back and continuously pressing his lips against freckles on her shoulders and back. She seems to get them the more time she spends in the sun, but they’re faint little things. He’s rather charmed by them. “Or maybe we stay away from the whiskey.”

 

She opens an eye and twists in bed, shuffling until she’s facing him like she tends to do in the mornings. It’s always a slow process getting her out of bed. He tends to like to get up and dressed as soon as his eyes open to get the day started, but Emma seems to be the opposite. He’s still not sure if it’s simply how she is or if it’s a result of being a barmaid and working mostly during the nights.

 

“Not everyone loves rum as much as you do.”

 

“They should.”

 

She hums, reaching her hand over to his and tracing the scars on his wrist, her nails keeping careful track of where each scar starts and ends. “We can see things differently. Didn’t you have things to do today?”

 

“Tomorrow at the earliest. I have to procure provisions for our departure in a few days.”

 

“Can you stay with me in bed all day?”

 

“It depends.”

 

“On what?”

 

“Are you going to do something about your breath?”

 

Emma groans in response, twisting her body around so that her back is to him, their bodies still close enough to be nestled together as he scoots closer, the bed moving underneath him as his hand comes to rest on her stomach and his chin on her shoulder.

 

“You’re an ass.”

 

“Never claimed to be otherwise.” He brushes his lips across her shoulder once more, nuzzling his head into her neck. “I do rather think it’s a waste to spend such a beautiful day holed in these quarters, even with the most beautiful woman in all the kingdoms in my bed, but I suppose for today we can stay down here.”

 

“I think that is the smartest thought you’ve ever had.”

 

“I’d have to agree.”

 

For most of the day, they do stay down in his cabin shrouded in darkness after pulling the curtains closed to block out the bit of sun. There must be a storm brewing from the way the water underneath them is restless, but it seems to lull Emma to sleep, those familiar puffs of air coming out onto his neck. When he’s sure that she’s asleep, he slowly moves out of bed, pulling on his trousers and changing into a black shirt, sloppily pulling on his vest and boots before climbing the later to be on deck. His men greet him, all of them nodding and chatting as he walks toward the steps to go down into the galley, loading up on some food for himself and for Emma. Will slyly hands him some sweet cakes, ones that he knows are Emma’s favorite, and he has to hide his smile at the fact that one of his men has gone out of his way to save sweets for Emma after their little discussion last night.

 

After gathering the food and wrapping it in a small cloth, he makes a quick round of the Jolly, checking to make sure everything is still where it’s supposed to be before returning to his cabin and wasting the rest of the day with his love. He’s incredibly fond of days like this. He doesn’t get them often, and he likes to treasure them.

 

That’s what he does.

 

Most of it is spent sleeping or eating, even more of it with wandering hands and gentle touches, but as night falls, he pulls a novel from his shelf and reads to Emma as she takes a bath, soaking her hair again and infusing it with the scents of her soaps, new ones from the beginning of the journey. She’s gorgeous, and he finds himself distracted by the water dripping off of her skin and down to her breasts that sit just above the water. But he leaves her be, lets her have this time as he flips through the pages of a tale based on the shapes of the stars in the sky.

 

The cygnet.

 

The swan.

 

His swan.

 

“Do you feel better now?” he whispers against her collarbone as she settles down on the mattress for bed and his hand finds the skin at the curve of her hip.

 

“Infinitely,” she admits, pulling her damp braid over her shoulder and turning her head to look at him as her hand rests on his cheek, fingers tapping against his temple. “Killian?”

 

He hums against her skin before falling down on his stomach and resting his nose against her chest, letting Emma run her hand through his hair while he feels the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath him. When she doesn’t say anything else, he speaks. “Yes, my darling?”

 

“What will happen when we’re finished visiting all of the summer isles?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You know? What happens?”

 

He’s still not entirely sure what she’s referring to, possibly a little too distracted by the warmth of her skin and the feel of her hand in his hair, but he answers as honestly as he can. “When we’re finished with the summer isles, it’ll be spring back in Misthaven, and we’ll return there.”

 

“But what about after that?”

 

Her voice is quieter this time, almost as if she’s nervous, and he’s reminded of last night and the conversation he put off because of Emma’s intoxicated state. Sighing, he twists around and maneuvers himself to a sitting position, letting Emma rest her head on his lap as his fingers play with the ends of her hair while she looks up at him with those vibrant emerald eyes that are more enchanting than any blue of the ocean.

 

“What are you really asking me?”

  
  
“Nothing.”

  
  
“Swan. I’m not an idiot. Neither are you. If you have words on your mind, I ask you to speak them.”

  
  
Emma huffs, her chest puffing with what he believes is frustration, and his eyes never leave hers as he waits for her to speak. “What is to become of us?”

  
  
He raises a brow and tugs on her plait, the answer simple to him even with its complicated roots. “Well, ideally one day you’ll become my wife, and we’ll go on many of an adventure together. Of course, if we are to have children, that complicates things for I know you are not the type of woman to want to only tend to children for all of your days.”

 

Her eyes widen at that, but they quickly go back to normal even if he sees a slight quirk in her lips. “You would be correct at that, but I do think that maybe I’d like that one day. To have children, I mean. I never really wanted it before, but I would…I’d like to have them with you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. It’s simply…” She sighs, bringing her bottom lips between her teeth. “How would that work, Killian? How would any of this work? You’re a pirate, and I don’t…I love that about you, but your life is at sea. Your life is not in a cottage in Misthaven with small children who make messes and need to be educated and constantly loved. The only trade I’ve ever known is as a barmaid, so you’d have to keep them at night and I – ”

 

“Darling,” he whispers, though his voice stays as strong and as sturdy as it ever has while his thumb rests in the dip of her chin to ensure that she looks at him as he tells her this, “my life is wherever you are. I am a pirate, yes, and I love sailing the open waters and getting to make sure that I rule no king. But as I told you before, I love you more than I’ve ever loved the ocean, and if one day you’d like to settle down in a cottage in Misthaven with little ones, I would trade in this life for all of that.”

 

“You would trade your ship for me?”

 

“Aye,” he nods, smiling down at her even as she starts to maneuver around the bed, sitting up until her knees are on either side of his thighs, her arse resting on his lip, and her hands sitting on his shoulders, unable to stay still as she traces his muscles.

 

Emma looks at him, truly looks at him, with wide eyes and a simple curved smile on her pretty pink lips, before she’s leaning forward and slowly gliding her lips over his. He fervently returns the kiss, wrapping his arm around her waist as his fingers spread across her back and tugging her impossibly closer while the other hand cups the back of her head, threading his fingers into her hair and undoing her braid as he moves his lips over Emma’s top lip. She’s incredibly soft, every inch of her, and he smiles into the kiss thinking of maybe one day the two of them having this kind of future they’re speculating about. He doesn’t know if they’ll ever have that future, if he deserves one as nice as that, but he has the hope that it may happen.

 

Emma gasps when he sucks on her lip again, and he pulls back to smile against her cheek, holding himself there as she chases after him. Slowly but surely he makes his way back to her lips, to her mouth, and as always, they move against each other in moves more rhythmic than waves of the ocean crashing into each other and into the shore. It’s calm and steady until it’s not, his thrusts and Emma’s wandering hands moving more quickly as the rain begins to fall outside, hitting against the windows and drowning out every sound but the beat of his heart and the sound of Emma’s curses whispered in his ear.

 

And the “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything” whispered just before she falls.

 

Soon they leave Arendelle and spend the next months exploring the last few islands and kingdoms in the summer isles. It becomes a bit of a routine, the traveling and changing, but he likes it, even if he has to steal a few treasures along the way as his crew aren’t too keen on only sailing so that Emma can see more kingdoms. And possibly because he likes that as well. But then spring seems to come with a changing of the breeze, and he knows that they can go home.

 

As if Emma is not his home.

 

But Misthaven is Emma’s home, the Mistress of the Sea is her home, and for their two weeks of travel, he can see the anxiousness in her shoulders, the tenseness in her jawline. The moment the seaside comes into view, little businesses and homes popping up, Emma practically sprints to the bow and stands on the tip of her toes as she looks at the tavern where she’s spent so much time.

 

Where they met.

 

They’ve barely docked by the time she’s exiting the Jolly and running down the docks where Ruby happens to be standing at a fish market shopping. It’s as if it’s some kind of fate for her to be out and about, but he doubts anyone will really question it as Emma wraps Ruby up in a hug and seemingly never lets go. That’s fine for him as he has business to attend to so life can settle down after being away from their home port for so many months.

 

Soon enough, matters return to normal, his crew wandering into the Mistress of the Sea every night for drinks and food and women and… _laughter_. Emma returns to work as the air in Misthaven heats, summer returning to the place, and he makes sure that his men leave tips that far exceed what they should. But they were profitable during their travels, and the barmaids deserve to be paid for their work. It’s comfortable being back in this place that he once loved, then hated, then loved once more, and he likes the nights where he sits on a bench with Emma next to him and sea shanties being sung around them.

 

He likes those nights, but he loves Emma.

 

And the weeks where he travels away, where he has treasure to find and has business to be done, he misses her to the point that he feels a hollow ache in his heart that cannot be satisfied by anything until she’s back in his arms under the smattering of stars in the sky that can only be seen on the clearest of nights sitting in the sand of the beach.

 

His lifestyle is one of travel, one not made to have loved ones waiting at home, and while Emma travels with him quite frequently, she does have her own trade and her own friends. She has reasons not to be traveling the sea at such a constant rate, and she just so happens to be his reason for having land legs just as often as he has sea legs. And more so as time goes on and a ruby ring, one that he procured of his own funds and of a trustworthy jeweler, finds its home on her left hand and they have a ceremony on the sand with just the two of them and the laughter and undeniable joy that fills the air.

 

He is a ship’s captain, after all. He can marry them.

 

Marry them he does.

 

And when Emma’s stomach begins to round, their child growing inside of her, he finds that he’s never loved land as much as he does then. When the child grows, soon joined by another small one that looks more like Emma than the first did, they strike a balance between letting the children grow in their home on land and their home on the sea.

 

After all, their parents are a mixture of both, and they deserve to get to experience the true pleasure of what it’s like to sail away into the beauty of the depths of the ocean and its ever changing tides only to return to the steady wood of their cottage near the shore that keeps them rooted in something much better than the angry plots their father once had.

 

The sea was his home for the longest of times, his mistress even when he didn’t have a lady, but as he stands with his wife’s back against his chest and his arms wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as they stare at the children splashing in the ocean, he knows once and for all that his home is wherever the three of them are.


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure where part three of this wonderful little universe came from, but here it is 💕

“You need more rum.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“And whiskey.”

 

“I’ve got it.”

 

“And I think the sheets upstairs need to be replaced soon as well.”

 

Emma scribbles the words down on her parchment, the ink of her pen marking her fingertips, before bending down to brush a kiss across Oliver’s cheek, making his cheeks redden in a way that’s only obvious because he’s been cursed (or blessed according to his father) with her pale skin and scattered freckles. He’s the most handsome seven-year-old boy in all of the kingdoms with his dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes, eyelashes as long as she wishes hers were, and a gap-toothed smile that makes her days every time she elicits one from him.

 

For someone who was never sure that she wanted to be a mother, her son makes her question that train of thought every single day, even on the days where he refuses to eat his dinner and disobeys her orders.

 

Meeting Killian and falling in love with him in this tavern over months and years changed everything for her, and the kid helping her take stock of the tavern is just one of the many tangible things that prove that.

 

The small toddler with dark black hair and blue eyes, tanned skin with no freckles to be seen, walking between the tables talking to the dwarves is another one of those proofs.

 

Her little Maribel.

 

“Mummy,” Oliver sighs, his shoulders shrugging as he hops up onto the countertop despite how many times she has told him not to do that, “can we have dinner soon?”

 

“Ruby is making you something.”

 

“Ruby doesn’t make good food.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes, unable to stop herself, before she adjusts her trousers on her waist, the pants far too big for her now, and reaches over to pick Oliver up and place him back on the ground. The children spend their days with her in the tavern when they’re not at the school building or at home with Killian, and considering it is the summer holidays and Killian is somewhere miles and miles away, they’ve been constants at her sides. She doesn’t mind. She quite likes that she gets to spend time with them, especially because Oliver truly is such a big help. He gets his meticulousness from his father, and even when it drives her into madness, she loves the way that both he and Killian will sit outside of their front door at the cottage and straighten the fence posts or the way that Oliver will arrange Killian’s novels in his quarters on the Jolly.

 

Thinking of his captain’s cabin, thinking of the small bed with a warm quilt and soft pillows and the gentle rocking of the waves makes her heart ache with missing him. It’s almost unbearable some nights, her heart and mind attacking her wondering where her husband is, if he’s safe, if he’s coming home soon, if he’s coming home at all. She’s always been an independent person because of her lack of upbringing, someone who never relied on others, and while she gets on just fine without Killian home, she _wants_  him home.

 

Or she wants to be out at sea with him.

 

Wherever he is, she would like to be there as well and be by his side every single day.

 

Life isn’t quite the same without him flirting with her while she works – he often pretends that they haven’t been married to each other for eight years now whenever his crew visits the tavern, and when he does this, he flirts with her much more openly and with more explicit detail than he ever did when he was her patron – or taking the children fishing and teaching them to read in the daylight hours. Her life is fuller with him and the crinkles around his eyes that she likes to trace in the early morning light. He often smiles at her, a crooked little thing, and then leans forward so that his lips can connect with every bit of skin that she has.

 

Her husband is a man who has killed, who has stolen, who has scars from life that he has taken and given, but in the mornings when the warm sunlight shines through the window in their bedroom and he’s smiling at her how he does, she can see nothing but love in the blue of his eyes.

 

The blue that is full of a lifetime spent on the ocean and yet is infinitely better than the sea in every conceivable way.

 

_“There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”_

_“Good.”_

 

Her heart aches for the blue, and even the exact substitute that she sees in the eyes of her children cannot replicate it.

 

The glint isn’t quite right.

 

She would know. She can see those eyes even when her eyes are closed and darkness surrounds her.

 

“Ruby makes perfectly good food,” she tells Oliver, placing her hands on her hips and staring down at him with squinted eyes that she knows make him listen. “Why don’t you go help her cook? She’s always telling me that you’re her favorite partner.”

 

“Even more than Maribel?”

 

“Only because you can reach the shelves.”

 

Oliver nods his head and darts past her and back into the kitchen. Ruby is most definitely going to despise her for sending Oliver back there when she’s trying to finish baking the bread for tonight as well as cooking a stew for them. If Ruby didn’t love them the way that she does, and maybe if she didn’t need the extra help, Emma knows that she would not have this job to return to whenever she’s home in Misthaven for long enough periods of time to need to work to fill her days and her coin purse.

 

(Ruby has been her closest friend for over a decade now, and under no circumstances would she ever ask her to leave the tavern even if she’s not the most reliable barmaid. Her children and husband? Yes. Her? No.)

 

“Oi,” Leroy calls out from his spot in the corner, several ale mugs already in front of him, “yer wee lassie is climbing up my boots, Mistress Jones.”

 

“Maribel,” Emma calls out, already walking out from behind the bar to cross the old wooden planks that need to be swept again. “Maribel, darling, don’t climb on Leroy’s boots.”

 

“Papa’s boots.”

 

Her eyes glance down at Leroy’s boots, and while they don’t truly resemble Killian’s, she can see how someone who is not yet three could get them confused with the boots her Papa wears. Killian’s left a pair sitting just inside the entrance to their cottage, and Maribel passes by them, nearly right at her eye level, every time she so much as enters the main part of their cottage.

 

Her heart could not possibly ache any more than it already does tonight.

 

“My darling,” she sighs, bending down and scooping Maribel up into her arms so that she rests at her hip, “those are like Papa’s boots, aren’t they? I think Papa’s feet may be too big to fit in them though.”

 

“No,” she giggles, her eyes scrunching up like Killian’s do.

 

_Heartache._

 

“Oh, I think so. Papa has the largest feet you’ll ever see. Larger than even a giant.”

 

“Papa is small.”

 

“I think you and I are not talking about the same man here, my love.”

 

“Wench,” a man huffs, his voice dripping with disdain, “I didn’t come here tonight to watch you coddle your bastard. I’m out of rum. Fetch me some more.”

 

Anger bubbles up under her skin, the desire to reach into the strap inside of her trousers and grab her knife just at the surface. They get assholes in here every now and then, travelers from outside of town and drunks who don’t know any better, and she’ll never not be someone who rises up in defense of her children. She has made plenty of mistakes in her life, Killian too, but their children deserve no hatred.

 

None.

 

“Get out of here, you buffoon,” Ruby shouts, coming out of the kitchen with Oliver at her heels. Emma knows that the word buffoon was simply because children are around, and Emma both loves her and hates her for it when the man is a fucking asshole.

 

“Why the hell should I listen to you, bitch?”

 

There’s a collective murmur around the tavern, a familiar one really, and Emma grabs Oliver’s hand and tugs him along with her to get out of the way. Graham and Anton will be inside in a minute, the two of them usually making their way inside when there’s a commotion, but in all honesty, Ruby doesn’t need them to handle men like this.

 

“Well,” she scowls, stepping up to him, “for one, I own this tavern, and I only serve who I want. Secondly,” she holds up a finger as she gets closer, their height discrepancy lessened by the height of Ruby’s confidence, “I know how to use any and all weapons. And finally, and I think you might like this one best, the woman whose child you just called a bastard, is Captain Killian Jones’s wife.” His face pales, and Emma can barely hide her snicker. “Ah, so you know who he is then? I imagine you do, and I imagine you’ll want to leave now and strongly consider never coming back. The Captain is here most nights. I believe he’ll be in later tonight, but he had some _business_  to attend to.”

 

If the man had a tail like a dog, it’d surely be stuck between his legs as he nearly runs out of the tavern, his hip bumping into tables and knocking over chairs. Emma suspects that’s all intentional, especially when he slams the door with such ferocity that the entire building shakes, but when it all settles down, all of their patrons break out into laughter, the sounds of joy coming back to the Mistress of the Sea.

 

“You have too much fun pulling that line,” Emma sighs at Ruby as the woman walks toward she and the children.

 

Ruby smirks, something so similar to Killian that she wonders if all of the people in her life have the ability to do that or if she’s starting to imagine things. “It’s too damn entertaining. Even if your husband wasn’t a seafaring man with good looks you hear stories about, you marrying him would be worth it simply to terrify folks like that.”

 

“Why would someone be scared of Papa?” Oliver asks innocently. “He’s not scary.”

 

“That’s because he loves you, kid. Your Papa would go to the ends of the earth to protect us, and sometimes that means he scares people.”

 

“I don’t believe it.”

 

“I wouldn’t suspect that you do.”

 

The rest of the night passes quickly, the tavern rather subdued, and she leaves Ruby and Ashley to take care of things as she walks the children home, Maribel sleeping on her shoulder and Oliver holding her hand as they walk down beaten, sand-filled paths. She knows this walk like the back of her hand, and even if they do live a few minutes too far from the tavern and the docks, she likes the way their cottage is secluded enough for them to have safety and privacy, as well as their own strip of sand. The sea breeze wafts past her nose, salt in the air surrounding them, and the smell relaxes her as she opens the front door to the cottage and sends Oliver off to his room to change into his sleep clothes as she lights the lanterns so that they have more light than the simple moonlight.

 

She’ll bathe the children in the morning and wash all of their clothes, but she’s simply too tired to do all of that right now.

 

By the light of the lantern, she reads Oliver and Maribel one of their stories, softly recreating the voices of different characters. She can’t do it quite like Killian can, but she likes to think that she’s gotten better. The complaints have certainly lessened.

 

Maribel falls asleep first, Oliver soon after, and she closes the book and blow out the lantern light before kissing each of their foreheads and closing their bedroom door so that she can move to her own bedroom, changing out of her clothes and into one of Killian’s shirts. She has her own nightgowns, pretty ones that Killian brings home for her, but she likes the way Killian’s shirts fall across her thighs and keep her mostly covered but also cool during summer nights.

 

She swears that it still smells like him too, and that makes it all the better.

 

Her hair takes far too long to brush out, and sometimes she’s tempted to cut it more and make it more manageable, but she knows that she’d miss the plaits she can do with it and how Killian runs his fingers through it when they’re talking. It’s a part of her, and once it is smoothed out, she finds that she doesn’t hate it so much.

 

She loves it.

 

And she loves how easily she falls into slumber that night when she’s been struggling with sleeping lately.

 

* * *

 

 There’s a creak against the floorboard, and Emma’s eyes immediately open as she quickly sits up and reaches for the knife that she keeps underneath the bed. Her heart is beating far too quickly to be healthy, and she’s ready to fight whoever has invaded their home in the darkness of the night.

 

Or not.

 

Because standing above her is the man whose blue eyes she’s been dreaming about.

 

The dreams don’t do them justice.

 

“Killian,” she breathes out on a sigh, dropping her weapon to the floor so that it clatters against the wood. It takes less than two seconds for her to rise from the bed and launch herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and…he’s so solid against her, warm and firm and feeling just like he did when he left. And he smells like he did, inviting and salty with the smallest hint of leather. His hands are welcomed and rough as they move up her bare thighs, holding her up against him, and she can feel her heart still beating wildly in her chest. And she can also feel his as the proof that he’s very much full of life. “Hi, my love.”

 

“Hello, Swan,” he chuckles into her neck, his breath hot in a way that sends shivers down her spine and his accent so damn pleasant that a sob gets caught in her throat, “I’m glad you decided to embrace me instead of killing me.”

 

“I thought you were an intruder.”

 

“I know I’ve been gone for a good while, but I wouldn’t think that your husband is an intruder. Don’t you remember me?”

 

Emma unburies her face from his neck so that she can look at his face in an attempt to soak all of this in and prove that she’s not dreaming. It’s difficult to see in the dim light, but she can see enough to look at his tanned skin and the thick stubble that resides along his jaw and over his lips. He hasn’t shaved in what looks like weeks, and while she doesn’t dislike it, she much prefers when he’s close shaved, his stubble a pleasant scratch against her skin. He also hasn’t cut his hair, the dark fringe falling messily over his forehead, and she imagines she’ll be cutting it sometime tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow. He’ll be here tomorrow.

 

“I think you may need to remind me,” she murmurs before tilting her head forward and gliding her lips over his. He tastes of salt, but that’s not what she truly notices when she can feel the softness of his lips mixed in with the odd feeling of his beard. It’s slow, reverent, thorough, and she can’t stop moving her lips over his while never staying long enough in one spot to keep deepening the kiss.

 

There are too many places to kiss for her to stay in one place.

 

“I can do that, my mistress.”

 

“Can I be your mistress when I am your wife?”

 

“You will always be my mistress of the sea,” Killian whispers as he leans her forward and softly places her on the bed, the mattress soft against her back as her husband peppers kisses across her jaw while his hands slide up and down the outside of her thighs, pulling her shirt up to rest at her hips. “Have you been sleeping in my shirt this entire time, darling?”

 

“Some nights,” she answers honestly, tilting her neck to the side to give Killian access as he trails his lips across her skin, sending sharp shivers down her spine and causing heat to pool between her thighs. “Other nights in one of the nightgowns you’ve bought me, sometimes I’m wearing nothing at all.”

 

He squeezes her thighs then, and his fingers inch over them so that he’s brushing against the inside of her legs where she’s sensitive, the rough pads of his fingers bring her pleasure. “Why Mrs. Jones,” he mumbles into her ear, his beard still scratching at her skin in an unfamiliar way, “how scandalous. Don’t you know that it’s improper for you to wear nothing to bed? It is not the way of a lady.”

 

Emma chuckles, unable to help herself, and uses her hands to grab onto Killian’s cheeks and pull him to her so that she can see his eyes again and the little red mark on his cheek that she’s missed. Oh, and the quirked brow. She may have missed that most of all.

 

“Don’t you know?” she mock gasps, pressing a kiss to his scar. “I’ve never been a lady, but I truly ruined my reputation when I married a pirate of all things.”

 

“You’re my lady,” he says before he captures her mouth with his and presses his body weight further onto hers so that she can feel the hard lines of his stomach and the muscles of his thighs, the comforting weight that comes with him being on top of her. His kiss is somehow gentle and rough, possessive really, and the way that he’s running his tongue over the seam of her lips has her opening up to him so that their tongues can tangle together in a hot slide that has Killian groaning when she pushes her hips up to his to feel the friction that she wants, that she _needs_.

 

“You are my lady,” he pants again, pecking her lips before kissing the indent in her chin and moving down her neck to kiss the hollow of her throat. “And you are my mistress.” His lips run along her collarbone now, harshly biting down, and she gasps, pleasure and heat continuing to curl within her as gooseflesh rises on her skin. “And the mother of my beloved children.” He runs his tongue down the concave between her breasts. “My closest companion.” He noses away the fabric covering her now before lightly kissing a tightened nipple. “My wife.” Killian looks up at her now through his long, dark lashes, and she smiles down at him while her hand runs through his thick, soft hair that’s got bits of the sea situated in it. “You are my everything, and I have sailed all of the seas to come home to you.”

 

Then his tongue is circling her nipple and his teeth are biting down. Her hips arch up in response, and she can feel his growing hardness against her bare thigh. Every doctor in the realm would worry about her heart for the way that it’s beating within her chest, but there is nothing to worry about. She is simply in love with a man who is her everything as well.

 

She is in love with a man who is _home_.

 

The two of them have been intimate with each other for nearly a decade now, and while there are times when it is not necessarily thrilling, she knows from talking with other woman that their intimate times are not quite like what she has. Their husbands and lovers do not always take the time to bring them pleasure as Killian does with her, so she revels in the time that he spends lavishing her breasts, in the time that he spends with his dark head of hair buried between her thighs as he brings her pleasure that cannot be replicated by anything else in the world.

 

That’s always one of her favorite things.

 

But so is the way that Killian’s jaw clenches when her lips kiss at his hip, at the inked skin of her name written on his flesh, and how he arches his hips off of the bed when her fingers brush over his length in smooth motions that she knows that he enjoys. The curses that curl off of his tongue, deep and dark, stir her on as she takes him in her mouth and hums around him. There’s something wonderful about how much she can control his bliss, can bring him to feeling so wonderful, but then Killian is gently pulling on her hair to bring her away from him.

 

“Darling,” he pants, running his hands down her arms and squeezing her upper arms, “I love you, but I have been without you for seven weeks. I will burst if I am not inside you soon.”

 

She nods her head up and down before crawling up his body and settling herself over his hips, the tip of his cock brushing against the sensitive flesh between her thighs, and she slowly guides him into her so that he can stretch her, fill her, be within her, the two of them connected in every way.

 

“I love you,” she murmurs while starting to roll her hips. “I have missed you, have missed the feeling of you inside of me.”

 

“I have missed the feeling of being within you.” His fingers tug at the hem of her – _his_ – shirt until it’s pulled above her shoulders, leaving her bare, and while one hand stays steady on her hip, the other comes to hold her breast. “You are so beautiful, my beloved.”

 

It’s a subtle, slow rocking of hips. She props her hands behind her back, fingers curling into the sheets, and Killian cants up into her to further sheath himself inside of her. They are experts in a quick fuck, in bringing each other pleasure as quickly as possible when they don’t have much time or the adrenaline is high after a dangerous night out on the waters, but they are moreover experts in relishing in the way that they join, in relishing in the way that their love allows them to fall apart slowly with stolen breaths and muttered words of love and affection.

 

Never again will she allow him to leave her for this long.

 

Never again.

 

It’s what she always says, every single time, and yet at least once a year, she has to watch him go. It’s the life of someone whose husband is meant to spend time on the ocean and with his crew. She cannot keep him with her, with their children, when there is a job to be done, a life to be lived, and what is seven weeks out of a long year when she gets a lifetime with this man?

 

Later, when they are both sated and there’s an ache between her thighs that she knows she will carry with her all of tomorrow, she curls into Killian’s side, her fingers tangling into the soft hair on his chest and her leg stuck between his calves. It’s perfect, especially with the way that Killian’s strong arm is wrapped around her shoulder and his fingers toy with the tips of her hair.

 

“Do the children look the same?” he ponders, pressing his mouth to her forehead and lingering there.

 

“Maribel’s hair has grown and gotten curlier, and I think she might be the slightest bit taller. Oliver is most definitely taller, and he’s lost some of his teeth. He looks ridiculous.”

 

Killian chuckles into her hair, and she feels his lips again. “Would I be horrible if I went to wake them up now so I can see them?”

 

She slaps his chest. “Yes! They already had a late night, and not even their Papa being home will wipe away their crankiness. Besides, I want you all to myself for as long as I can have you.”

 

It’s a quick tilt of her head upward to kiss his jaw before she settles back down against his shoulder.

 

“Will you take tomorrow off from the tavern? I think I’d like to have you and the children to myself as well. I don’t like traveling without you all.”

 

“I’m sure you and the crew get to have much more fun without all of us around.”

 

“Bloody hell, no, Emma. They all love you. It’s a bit disconcerting. It was just us for so long, but now, whenever we voyage without you, every man on that ship whines over not having you to talk with or to tell stories. I swear to you, darling, when I give an order, they look around for you like you are the Captain.”

 

“I always knew I had a commanding presence.”

 

“Aye, that’s very true. Scarlet has likely missed you as much as I have.”

 

“Good. I’ve missed him. The kids have too. I’m going to invite him to dinner when I next see him.”

 

“He’s already invited himself.”

 

She chuckles at that, burying her face into his shoulder and breathing in the salty smell of him, both the sea still on his skin as well as the sweat that formed during their lovemaking. “Are you going to tell me about your travels? Where did you go? Did you bring home any gold?”

 

“Ah, I knew you were only with me for my gold.”

  
  
“You’ve foiled my plan.”

 

A sigh passes through his lips, and he straightens his shoulders, curling a bit more into her and tugging their quilt higher on the bed. “I will tell you everything you want to know, but Emma, I think I need you to tell me everything about your time here. I thought of you every day, and I want to make up for every moment that I’ve missed.”

 

* * *

 

When Emma wakes, the first thing she notices is the sunlight filtering through the window and the drapes, everything cast in a soft glow as her eyes adjust to yellow glow that’s brighter than she’s used to waking up to in the mornings. The second thing she notices is the lack of her husband in their bed, and when she runs her hand over the spot where he sleeps, it’s cold to the touch. For a moment, she worries once more that last night was a dream, that he’s not truly home, but the ache between her thighs and purpling bruise on her collarbone tell her otherwise.

 

Surely it was dreamy, but it was not a dream.

 

Slowly, she rises from the bed, moving over to her chest to find a shift to wear for this morning. She could get fully dressed, but since she doesn’t plan on leaving their cottage anytime soon, there is truly no point in wearing anything other than a pale blue shift that keeps her from walking around without clothes, which is perfectly fine with she and Killian, their children not so much.

 

The bedroom door is cracked when she goes to open it in search of Killian, and it doesn’t take long to find him. He’s sitting at the table, a plate of sausage and eggs in front of him that he must have gotten up and cooked, and Maribel is curled up in his lap with her arms wrapped around his stomach as much as she can reach and her unruly head of hair resting on his chest while she chews on a piece of bread. Oliver is sitting across from them, his hair sticking up in the back, and he’s very much eating off of Killian’s plate.

 

For as glad as she was to see Killian last night and as glad as she was to keep him to herself for a few hours, there are few sights like him sitting with his children listening to them talk over breakfast. It’s a routine in their life, one that happens whether they’re on land or sailing the seas, and it’s something that she didn’t know that she missed so damn much.

 

All of her loves in one place again. It’s the closest to perfection that life can get.

 

“And then,” Oliver gasps, his mouth very obviously full of food, “the man was loud with Mummy, but Aunt Ruby came out from the kitchen and told him that he couldn’t be mean to Mummy because you were going to show up.”

 

“Oh, was I going to protect Mummy then, lad?” Killian questions, raising a brow and winking so that she knows that he’s seen her this morning.

 

“Yes. You’re a pirate, so you have to protect Mummy and me and Maribel.”

 

“Is that what a pirate does?”

 

Oliver shrugs his shoulders. “Sometimes. You also drink lots rum and wear lots of jewelry with skulls on them.”

 

“Ah,” Killian sighs, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork and offering it to Maribel before he takes a bite out of it himself, “you are right on that, but I think you have more that you need to learn about being a pirate. I think I’ll have to take you and your sister to spend some more time on the Jolly Roger soon. Your bunk is waiting for you there.”

  
  
“What?” Emma laughs, finally stepping away from the doorframe and walking toward her family, the wood cool beneath her feet. “Do I not get invited to spend time on the Jolly Roger and have pirate lessons?”

 

“You do, darling,” Killian smiles, tilting his head up so that she can press a kiss to his lips, one, two, three times. “Your bunk is waiting for you as well, preferably with me already in it.” He waggles his eyebrows at that, and she slaps his shoulder. The scoundrel. “But I think today I want to go to our beach and do a little swimming, maybe even some fishing, yeah?”

 

“Shells?” Maribel asks, looking up at Killian so that he can bop her nose.

 

“Aye, my little love, we can collect your shells as well. I have a jar of them that I’ve brought home for you to display above our fireplace.”

 

* * *

 

 Emma’s knees are tugged up to her chest as she watches Killian and Oliver stand in the water with fishing poles in their hands. Killian has on a pair of old trousers that have been rolled up to his calves, but the water is still hitting them and soaking through the brown material. Those two have been standing in the water for nearly an hour now, and they haven’t caught a thing.

 

Not one.

 

And she’s not entirely sure why Killian hasn’t moved to another spot where the fish are more plentiful, but honestly, she thinks that it’s because Oliver keeps giggling and splashing about and Killian doesn’t care enough about catching them some dinner when their son is having such a good time.

 

(She doesn’t care either.)

 

“Mummy, look,” Maribel speaks quietly. She’s holding a handful of red and white shells, most of them unbroken but a few chipped on the sides.

 

“Those are beautiful, darling.” Emma holds her hand out to take them from Maribel so that she can carefully place them in the basket. “You’re doing so well in your collections. Papa is going to be so happy to see them.”

 

This gets a big grin out of Maribel, and Emma has to roll her eyes the slightest bit. The man leaves them for seven weeks, and yet he’s still got them wrapped around his finger.

 

(It’s the same with her.)

 

“We can keep them?”

 

“Yeah, kid, we can keep them. I’m going to put them in their home with all of the others.”

 

“I’m hungry.”

 

Emma laughs at the sudden change of subject, which is pretty common for this one, and she reaches forward to grab Maribel and start running her fingers over her stomach so that Maribel starts laughing in a fit of high-pitched giggles that could probably be captured in a jar and sold as pure joy.

 

“You’re hungry?” Emma teases, keeping her fingers moving as her daughter squirms. “What are we going to do about that, huh? I think we need to complain to your Papa and your brother that they aren’t catching us fish for dinner.”

 

“M-mummy,” Maribel squeals, her entire face scrunched up in laughter. “I want a sweet cake.”

 

“Maybe tomorrow, lovely,” Emma sighs, picking Maribel up and kissing her cheek. “Tomorrow we’ll go down to the docks and let Papa buy you a sweet cake, okay?”

 

Emma stands from the ground, the soft sand sinking below her feet, and picks Maribel up to rest on her hip while she walks the two of them out to the water, the bottom of her dress soaking with salt water. She needs to find some shorter pieces to wear when they’re on their secluded slice of the beach because there is really no other way to enjoy the ocean than letting it hit her bare skin as Killian swims around her.

 

“Darling,” Emma calls as she walks up to Killian and Oliver, “Maribel tells me that she’s ready for supper, and yet I don’t think the two of you have caught any fish.”

 

“Aye, well, the fish don’t seem to be as welcoming to my return as all of you are. Did you scare them off while I was away by telling them tall tales about me?”

 

“Papa, fish don’t talk,” Oliver corrects him.

 

“Fish talk like the ocean does, lad. Just because we do not speak their language does not mean they do not have one of their own.”

 

“I think you got too much sun on your trip, and now you’re crazy.”

 

She and Killian both snicker at Oliver’s words, the two of them unable to hide their laughs at him. Or rather with him. He’s such a smart child, one she cannot believe is her own, and one day she simply knows that he is going to grow up to be just like Killian.

 

They could all be so lucky.

 

* * *

 

 “Should we move them to their beds?”

 

“Not now,” Emma sighs, leaning back into Killian’s chest and bringing his hands around her waist to rest on her stomach.

 

They came inside from the beach not an hour ago, staying out there much longer than anticipated when Killian and Oliver miraculously started to catch a few fish and then Maribel insisted that everyone continue to collect shells with her. All of their skin is a little darker than before and thankfully not red with burns, but Emma can tell that their children’s tiredness stems from a day out in the sunshine with little reprieve. It was wonderful in every conceivable way, but so is sitting in their den with Maribel and Oliver sound asleep on the plush rug while she and Killian sit together on their cushioned chair.

 

He may have spent most of his time today with their children, as he very well should have, but now that they are asleep, all of his attention is back to her, as it very well should be.

 

At least for these few moments.

 

Killian sighs behind her, and she feels his lips press into the skin at her shoulder, his nose moving away the fabric of the nightgown she’s changed into. “They are so wonderful. I never thought – after I lost Liam and Milah, I never thought that I would want to have children or would want to bring them into this world, but I cannot thank you enough for giving them to me.”

 

Her heartbeat stutters as emotion lodges itself in her throat, and all she can do is lean back further into his chest and squeeze his hands over where they reside on her stomach.

 

“It was a team effort, but since I did do most of the work, I will take that compliment.”

 

Killian laughs behind her, his entire chest moving with it so that she moves too. “No one in all of the realms has a wife with as much humor with you, I swear to it. I have asked hundreds of men.”

 

“You are ridiculous.”

 

“You are impossible.”

 

“And you love me for that.”

 

“Aye,” he mumbles, kissing her shoulder again while his nails trace patterns into her stomach and over her wrists, “I do. I love you and every part of your past and present that makes up who you are. I spent so many nights in my quarters wishing that I had you beside me in bed or that you were sitting at the table reading a book that you’ve already read many times over. I simply want to be beside you at all times, even when you are cross with me, and not having you with me nearly killed me. Every tavern the crew went into was wrong because you were not serving us our drinks and telling stories. Every beach I went to was empty because I didn’t have you to swim with me or the children to collect shells with me. You have changed every facet of my life, and I sometimes I feel inadequate in that I am not as nearly wonderful to you as you are to me.”

 

“Killian,” she immediately whispers before tilting her head back to kiss at his jaw. Her mind is still trying to wrap around all of his words, of the emotions behind them all, but she does not need time to know that the last little bit is utterly and completely false. “You are my everything, and it’s my wish that you never feel inadequate in how much you mean to me, to us. You are the one who has changed every facet of my life, who takes me on great adventures and shows me how much of the world that there is to discover, but in truth, I need nothing more than for you to hold me as we fall asleep or for you to make me laugh at any and all times of the day. Right now, right here, you are giving me more than enough by simply being who you are.”

 

His head nods behind her, the scruff of his newly shaven beard pleasantly scratching against her skin, and his warmth radiates over every inch of her body, embracing her as he does.

 

“I love you, my beloved, and I promise to hold you just like this for as long as I can as I do not have any inclination as to why I should let go.”

 

Emma closes her eyes and takes hold of his hands once more, bringing his knuckles to her lips so that she can brush a kiss over each one.

 

She’s never letting go either.


End file.
